


Against the Dying of the Light

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is mute, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: After six weeks missing, Dick Grayson is finally found by Jason Todd and Damian Wayne. But a stand-off leaves the vigilante missing more than he bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are MANY potential triggers in this fic, including but not limited to: implied rape, violence, and severe anxiety and depression. If you have any concerns about a potential trigger, please contact me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/luthienluinwe) and I will provide you with appropriate spoilers.

He’d been missing for weeks when they finally got a lead. An abandoned warehouse in the south side of Blüdhaven. It figured, Jason thought. Slade always had wanted to hit Dick where it hurt. “What’s your twenty, Red?” Jason asked through his comm. Bruce hadn’t wanted him on the mission.  _ He’s my friend too, asshole.  _

“Rooftop behind you, Hood,” Tim’s voice came through, and Jason nodded. Everything was going according to plan, at least for the time being. God, he hoped it would stay that way. It had been six agonizing weeks. Jason was almost starting to miss Dick’s stupid banter and witty remarks.

He glanced at his side, glad to see that the demon-spawn hadn't gone off on his own. “You don’t have to go in,” Jason said, ignoring the ‘tch,’ that escaped the brat’s lips. It was worth a shot. Still, Jason didn’t like dragging a kid into things. Slade was dangerous, deadly. If Damian wasn’t careful, he’d get himself killed. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged and loaded a clip into his handgun. If Slade so much as leaned the wrong way, he was a dead man, Bruce’s rules be damned.

_ “Where the hell is he?” Bruce had kicked the door to Jason’s safehouse open and slammed him against the wall, hands wrapped around his throat. If Jason didn’t know the Bat’s rules any better, he would have sworn the man was ready to kill him. Where the hell was who? How was he supposed to know anything given that information. “Did you send one of your pathetic drug lords after him?” _

_ Jason clawed at Bruce’s wrists, digging his nails in hard enough to draw blood. He couldn’t breathe. God, he couldn’t breathe, and he needed Bruce to let go of him so he could  _ think  _ dammit. _

_ He let out a gasp when Bruce finally let go of him. "What the fuck are you talking about? he demanded, instinctively reaching for his throat and rubbing it. Just seconds after Bruce had let him go and it was already tender. _

_ "Dick," Bruce answered, and Jason shot him a death glare. What did Prettyboy have to do with any of this? "Where the hell is he?" _

_ "He's gone?" Jason frowned. He must have been gone a good while if Bruce was concerned about it. They'd gone weeks without speaking before. And if Bruce couldn't track him... Well that certainly couldn't have meant anything good for Dick Grayson. By that point, and it hurt somewhere deep he didn't realize he still had to admit it, they were looking for a body. _

Storming the warehouse had been easy enough. Slade never did like to hire others to do his dirty work. Navigating it, though, now that was a different story. God only knew what tricks and traps he'd set up there.

And of fucking course it had to have been a warehouse. Don't think about it. "Where is he?" Damian shouted, and Jason glared at the boy through his helmet. Oh, he was struggling to keep his temper in check. But it needed to be done. Losing it could cost them everything. One wrong move and they really would be looking for a body... If they weren't already.

Slade had to have known he didn't stand a chance. Why else would he have pulled Dick from wherever the hell he'd been holding him to the middle of a warehouse in the bad part of town?

_ "Listen up, you sons of bitches," Jason, dressed in full Red Hood gear, addressed the eight people sat around him. He dropped a bag into the middle of the table, pulling his gun seconds later. It never did hurt to remind them who was really in charge of things. "Dick Grayson's gone AWOL. This bag of cash goes to whoever can get me good information on his location." _

_ It had only taken a week for the first person to come forward. Hear rumors about some drugged up pretty boy being traded around some shadier circles. Seemed to match the description. _

_ The poor bastard had shown up dead a week later. _

"I was wondering when you would show up," an alarmingly calm voice greeted him. His blood ran cold as he stared the man down. Slade had come prepared with an arsenal of weapons and full body armor.

"Where is he, Slade?" Damian demanded, and Jason wanted to hit him upside the head. Patience is a virtue, kid. He'd had to learn that one the hard way. He didn't want to see the brat make the same mistakes.

_ 'I lost visual, Hood,' _ Tim's voice rang in Jason's ears. Well fuck. Tim was supposed to be keeping an eye on things, directing them if someone or something tried to sneak up on them. Now they were screwed. No. Screwed didn't begin to cover it.

Slade stepped aside, and Jason felt sick to his stomach. Dick was sat tied to a chair, covered in sweat, hair clinging to his forehead. Bruises and cuts in various stages of healing littered his skin, and it was taking everything in Jason not to shoot Slade dead where he stood. It would have been a stupid move. That knowledge was the only thing keeping his trigger finger in check. Slade wanted him to shoot.

He wasn't about to fall into whatever trap he'd laid for them.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Jason watched as Slade moved behind Dick and grabbed him by the hair. He didn’t waste a second pulling his gun and aiming it at the mercenary’s head. Almost time to see how good that armor really was.

He didn’t see the knife.

He should have seen the knife.

Years of training. Years and years of agonizing training under Bruce’s leadership.

He should have known better.

He wasn’t sure which sound was louder. The gun firing, the harsh swish of the blade against Dick’s throat, the gurgling, strangled scream Dick had let out, or the sharp, primal one that had come from Damian. 

Jason instinctively moved to Dick, who had slumped forward, but was, mercifully, still breathing. “Stay with me, Dickhead,” Jason pleaded as he tore the bottom of his shirt, balling it up and pressing it to the fresh wound on the man’s neck. “Don’t let that bastard be the one to kill you, you hear me?”

Dick glanced up at him, eyes gray and dull, and for a moment, a long, heart-stopping moment, Jason really thought he was going to die.

_ Deathstroke had him. That much Jason was sure of. But if Deathstroke had him and neither he nor Dick had been seen in over a month... That couldn't have meant anything good. God, it was Renegade all over again. How many times did Dick have to make the same damn mistake before he learned? _

_ But this time seemed different. More forced. Dick didn't just up and disappear. He had to have been taken. He was taken, and Slade was passing him around like some whore doing God-only-knew what... No. Jason didn't want to think about that. _

_ He bit the bullet and pulled his phone out, hating himself for it. But this was out of his league. He needed all the help he could get if he wanted to find Dick alive and, well, as well as he could be. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Bruce and hit 'call.' _

It seemed an eternity before the ambulance got there. An agonizing minute and a half of watching Dick struggle to breathe. And when he'd coughed and blood had spattered Jason's face, Jason had been absolutely sure he was dying, that it was the end, and that Dick was going to die in a warehouse too soon just like Jason had. 

Well... Not quite.

At least Dick wasn't alone.

He frowned in confusion when he saw two paramedics tend to Dick while two more walked right past him. Couldn't they see him drowning in his own damn blood?

It was only then that he saw the body, Damian standing over it.

"Time to go, Robin."

Jason grabbed him by the wrist and ran like hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Flashes of light.  _ Stay with us.  _ Bodies moving above him.  _ 118 over 72 and dropping.  _ Everything hurt, and he just wanted to sleep…  _ 55 BPM and dropping.  _ Slade’s voice laughing in his ear…  _ I win.  _

Everything was foggy and not making sense. What was going on? He didn't know. The lights were too bright and the sounds were too loud. What had happened? What was going on? His thoughts were swimming and not making any sense. Where was he? Where had he been?

Dick woke with a start, and groaned when someone pushed him back down. He frowned in confusion and glanced at the stranger. Bruce. Just Bruce looking over him. God, why was that beeping so loud? It was ringing in his ears and wouldn't let him think straight.

He opened his mouth. He needed to know where he was, what was going on. Needed to apologize for disappearing for so long even though Bruce would insist that it wasn't his fault, even though Dick had been the one stupid enough to get caught in the first place. He tried to speak...

And no sound came out.

Why was no sound coming out? He was going through the right motions, wasn’t he? He had to have been… How long had he been speaking? Most of his life. It wasn’t hard… So why couldn’t he do it?

His heart was racing in his chest, and the alarms by his bed were going off, and he just wanted everything to stop, for everything to be  _ quiet _ .

Well.. Not everything to be quiet.

He tried to speak again.

No sound again.

Why was nothing happening?

The beeping was getting louder and faster and he couldn't think and he couldn't deal with this because nothing was working the way it was supposed to and God, why was nothing working the way it was supposed to? And the last thing he remembered was a warehouse and Slade and Jason...

"Dick, you need to calm down," Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, and Dick immediately jerked away. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And how the hell was he supposed to calm down when everything had gone to hell the past several days? Nothing was okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

And Bruce wanted him to calm down?!

He tried to speak again to no avail.

_ What happened?  _ He wanted to ask. Two simple words. Three syllables. It wasn't hard. Toddlers could ask it. So why couldn't he? He looked at Bruce, desperate for any explanation he could get.

He watched Bruce sigh and sit down, running a hand through his short, dark hair. God, what the hell had happened? Warehouse. Slade... Jason and Damian were there. Were they okay? he needed to know. He needed to ask, but he  _ couldn't,  _ and he hated himself for it. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the stupid monitors showing his heart rate escalating by the minute, not wanting to see Bruce's worried looks that made him look infinitely older than he was.

_ What happened? I everything okay? Where's Damian?  _ So many questions running through his head. So many questions he needed answers to.  _ Why can't I talk? Where am I? How did you find me? What happened? What's going on? _

_ Stay calm, Grayson,  _ the voice in the back of his head told him. Panicking wouldn't do him any good. it would make everything hundreds of thousands of times worse, and that was the absolute last thing Dick or Bruce needed in that situation.

"Are you in pain?" Bruce asked, and Dick started to speak before remembering he  _ couldn't _ , so he shook his head instead. If there was one good thing hospitals did, it was load their patients up with pain meds.

Dick looked at Bruce desperately, hoping that Bruce would understand, that he would give him some of the answers he needed to know. "Slade's dead.'

Dick's blood ran cold.  _ When? How?  _ Had Dick killed him and not remembered? No, surely to God he would have remembered that. Wouldn't he? Did Jason or Damian get him? God, he hoped it wasn't Damian. Bruce would hate Damian for it, even if the bastard deserved it... And a sick, twisted part of Dick was glad the bastard was dead.  _ He can't let anyone hurt you ever again. _

"Jason killed him," Bruce continued, and Dick let out a breath. It wasn't good, but it was better than the alternative. Jason had killed before. Jason could handle everything that came alongside it.

Damian had spent years trying to build up Bruce's trust, and the last thing Damian needed was for that trust to come crashing back down.

Dick opened his eyes back up and glanced back over at Bruce, who was staring directly at him. "Slade cut your throat," Bruce said, and Dick immediately reached for it. He could feel the harsh medical gauze taped to him.  _ How the hell did that not kill me?  _ He watched Bruce take a shaky breath. "Dick," he sighed, and Dick felt his heart drop.

What was going on?

What was the bad news that Bruce was trying to hide from him?

"They don't think you're going to be able to speak again."

His blood ran cold.

There must have been a mistake. Surely,  _ surely  _ they had made a mistake....  _ I'm chatty. It's part of my charm. _

He shut his eyes tightly and clenched his hair in his hands. It was wrong. It was all so wrong. The doctors were wrong. This was all some twisted dream. Maybe Slade had drugged him again... Maybe he was just hallucinating and he was going to wake up and this was all going to be one giant nightmare he was going to wake up from. Wake up and everything was going to be back to normal. Wake up and none of this had ever happened in the first place....

_ I want to go home. _

"Do you want a minute?" Bruce asked, and Dick shook his head. He didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts and demons.

He never wanted to be alone again.

He tried to curl up on his side, make himself as small as possible, but the leads attached to his arms made that damn near impossible, and he was stuck lying on his back.  _ I hate this. _

Dick took a shaky breath and opened his eyes once more, staring at the harsh fluorescent lighting above him.  _ I want my parents. _

“Are you sure you don’t want a minute alone?” Bruce pressed, and Dick nodded again. Bruce was wrong. Bruce had to be wrong. But he kept opening his mouth, and no sound came out, and he knew Bruce was right, that the doctors were right…

And Bruce took Dick’s hand and squeezed it, and that was all it took for Dick to completely lose it, and even his sobs were silent. “Do you want me to get the nurse?” Bruce asked, and Dick shook his head and let out a breath when Bruce let go of his hand, only breathing again when Bruce shifted so he was sat on the edge of Dick’s bed, arm wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, kiddo.”

And Dick shook his head because Bruce was wrong.

Nothing was ever going to be okay again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason knew better than to show up at the Batcave. But he didn’t want to see Dick lying in a hospital bed, and he sure as hell didn’t want to leave the demon brat alone, and Bruce would have been suspicious if Jason would have taken him to a safehouse instead of straight home.

He knew better than to show up at the Batcave, and he was really regretting every life choice that had led him to that point when Bruce stormed in, still dressed in the clothes he’d gone to visit Dick in. “Damian, your room. Now.”

“Father…” Damian started to protest, and Jason shot him a look to let him know it was okay. He didn’t even need to see Bruce’s face to know the infamous Bat Glare was plastered on it. Jason was always good with reading people, Alfred had told him once. Sometimes Jason believed it.

And knowing that Bruce was in one of his moods and that Jason had fucked up yet again… He almost wished the demon brat would have stuck around instead of going off to his room like his daddy told him to. 

Jason watched as Bruce took a breath and turned on his heel. “What part of not killing was unclear to you?” he shouted, and Jason instinctively took a step back, swearing when his back hit the Batcomputer. Jason blinked in confusion. He hadn't killed anyone… Damian had… And maybe, if Bruce didn’t know, maybe…

“You saw what the son of a bitch did to Dick,” Jason said. “I wasn’t about to let that go.”

Hindsight being 20-20, he should have seen the slap coming. But he didn’t until it was too late and his cheek was stinging with the impact.

It almost would have been better if Bruce had outright punched him. At least then they could say it wasn’t personal.

“I put up with a lot from you, Jason,” Bruce growled, and Jason glared right back at him. “Things I would never let anyone else get away with. And Jason had to bite back the urge to laugh. Did Bruce honestly think he cared what he was  _ allowed  _ to do or not? 

Hindsight being 20-20, he should have seen it coming.

Bruce grabbed him by the shirt, ripping the red bat clean off, and for a moment, just for a moment, Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe. Once upon a time that bat symbol had been a solid ‘fuck you’ to the Bat and everything he stood for. Over time, it had become his identity, part of him, a part that no one could touch. Because right or wrong, he still belonged to that family, operated with them. They were part of him, and he was part of them. And the others could deny it all they wanted to. It wouldn’t change the truth.

And now it was gone, and the cool air from the cave was hitting his bare chest, and Jason didn’t know if he wanted to cry or if he wanted to pick a fight. 

“You’re done, Jason,” Bruce let go of the fabric, and Jason watched, dumbstruck, as it fell to the ground. “If it weren’t for what he did to Dick, I’d be taking you to Blackgate instead of standing here talking to you.”

“You call this a fucking conversation?” Jason demanded, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“Don’t push it, Jason,” Bruce responded, and Jason saw red. Who the hell was Bruce to tell him what to do anymore? Bruce didn’t get to make the rules or call the shots. Not anymore. Not when Bruce didn’t have the balls to do what needed to be done in the first place.

“Or what, you’ll ground me? Newsflash, Brucie, I’m not your fucking sidekick anymore.” He couldn’t help the loss of control, not when his heart was pounding and the adrenaline was still rushing.

Jason had hoped that visiting Dick would have at least calmed Bruce down a little bit.

Another thing he could add to the list of things he was wrong about.

“Get out,” Bruce snarled, and for a second, Jason felt a tremble of actual fear. Bruce wouldn’t kill him. Couldn’t kill him. But he could still be a violent man when he wanted to be, and Jason was pushing all the wrong buttons.

God he was glad he’d taken the fall instead of Damian.

The kid had already had a hard enough life. He didn’t need Bruce’s anger and aggression added onto it. 

“Fuck you,” Jason spat before turning on his heel and all but marching out of the cave. Bruce wanted him gone? Fine. He’d find another way to stay involved with Goldie and the demon brat. Because like it or not, the demon brat was going to need him. 

Jason could still remember his first kill. Sometimes he woke up at night thinking about it, and couldn’t get back to sleep. So much had changed between point A and point B. He didn’t want Damian to become as corrupted as he had. The kid didn’t deserve it.

He zipped his jacket up and threw his keys into his bike’s ignition, breathing again only when he heard the familiar hum of the engine. Fuck Bruce. Fuck Slade. Fuck all of this. Dick deserved better.

He headed to the hospital and stopped in the parking lot, staring at the massive building before him. He thought about going in. But what could he say? That he’d stood by helpless when Slade had cut Dick’s throat? That he’d stood by and watched as Damian beat Slade to death? 

That Slade may have lived if Jason’s bullet hadn't incapacitated him enough for Damian to fight him in the first place?

Jason hadn't killed the motherfucker.

He may as well have.

And what Bruce didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? 

At least it couldn’t hurt Damian.

No. It was better if Jason just had the decency to stay away like everyone wanted him to. He needed to lie low. He needed to find a new shirt. He needed to get some fucking sleep in before he lost his mind all over again. 

“Good luck, Goldie,” he whispered under his breath, giving the hospital one last look before riding off in the night to another abandoned building he’d set up for emergencies like this one. He should have left the city altogether, gotten on the freeway and not stopped until he got all the way out west, far away from Gotham, the Bat, Dick, everyone…

But he’d damned Dick to a life of silence, a life that was going to be hell on earth for the vigilante he’d once called a friend. He’d damned Damian to a life of guilt that no man was going to be able to erase or undo.

He should have looked harder.

He should have pulled the trigger sooner.

He should have killed Slade himself.

He figured he could add this to the list of the great fuck-ups of Jason Peter Todd.

All he ever did was screw everything up.

What else was new?


	4. All Is Fair

Life could change in a matter of seconds. Dick knew that His life had changed forever back when his parents had fallen. It had changed again when Bruce adopted him. And it had changed again and again and again since then. But nothing had prepared him for the loss of his voice.

Nothing could have.

It was like he’d lost a limb.

The doctors had discharged him a week after he’d been admitted.

Sometimes it was easy to forget. And then Tim would say something stupid, and Dick would try and make a witty response… And then he’d remember. And he’d feel his heart drop all over again, and he didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry or hit something or all three. 

Jason had been nowhere in sight, not that Dick could blame him. Things must have been tense between Jason and Bruce… Well, more tense than usual. Especially if Jason had actually killed Slade…

His blood ran cold when he thought of the man that had ruined his life. Was he glad Slade was dead? Maybe. It was hard to tell. Was it wrong to be glad that Slade was dead? He didn’t know.

Because the past however the hell long it had been had been absolute hell on earth, being passed around to whoever the hell Slade thought could hurt him more, constantly being pushed to the edge of what he could endure… 

No. He didn’t want to think about that again.

Even if he knew he’d eventually have to.

“Ah, Master Dick,” Alfred greeted as Dick stepped into the manor. Amazing how the building could stay exactly the same as he remembered it, how the world could keep on even when everything was crashing down around him. “It’s good to see you alive and well.”

Dick forced a smile and gave a cordial nod to Alfred. He could have signed. He’d learned enough with Cass and Joey… But he didn’t want to, at least not for the time being. It wasn’t the same.

He couldn’t even remember what his laugh sounded like.

“Are you hungry?” Alfred asked. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a light meal. I figured you must be tired of hospital food…”

_ I’m fine,  _ Dick wanted to say. The hospital food hadn't been that bad. It hadn't been great, but it had been better than the next to nothing he’d gotten with Slade and Slade’s… friends.  _ I just want to go to bed. _

He shot Alfred an apologetic look before heading up to his room, leaving the door cracked open behind him, even though the absolute last thing he wanted was Damian or Tim, or worse, Bruce, coming in to check on him, make sure everything was okay.

Because everything was so fucking far from okay.

He collapsed onto his bed and curled up into a ball on his side. Dick loved taking up space. He always had. But lately all he wanted to do was make himself as small as he possibly could. He was safe, curled up in a little ball in the manor where no one could ever use him or hurt him again. 

_ It’s not fair. _

A knock on his door dragged him from his thoughts. Well, that certainly didn’t take long. 

He took a shaky breath and carefully sat up, glancing in the crack in the doorway to see Damian staring back at him. Dick motioned for him to come in, and watched as Damian cracked the door open just wide enough to slip through, and shut it again. “Grayson,” he greeted, staring at the ground instead of at Dick. “I wished to check in on you.”

_ I’m fine. _

_ Bullshit. _

It was strange, not being the strong one for once, everyone else asking if he was okay instead of him asking them. He didn't like it. It was unsettling and a constant reminder that he'd failed.

He shut his eyes tightly and took a deep, shaky breath before falling back onto his bed. It wasn't fair. Bad things didn't happen to him... Well, they had once, but he felt like he'd more than paid his dues on that front. Because losing his parents and dealing with Slade and everything in between hadn't been enough for the universe...

_ Don't think like that. _

"How are you feeling?" Dick felt the bed slump down from Damian's weight.

He forced to open his eyes and prop himself up on his elbows. How was he feeling?  _ Terrible.  _ He shrugged and mouthed a 'fine,' knowing that was what Damian wanted to hear... No, not hear. No one would ever hear his voice again.

_ I hate this. _

Damian raised an eyebrow, but didn't push it further, and Dick was eternally grateful for that. Damian always knew when to push him and when to let up. He'd been at the receiving end of Dick's infamous temper enough times to learn when to back off.

Dick wished he could apologize for all the times he'd lost his temper with Damian.

_ I'm sorry. _

"Father and Pennyworth are worried about you," Damian continued matter-of-factly, and Dick rolled his eyes. There was nothing worse than a worried Alfred. But why wouldn't they be worried? Dick had lost something near and dear to him. And he was never going to get it back.

He wanted to scream.

"I am worried about you."

Dick shut his eyes again and took another shaky breath before opening them, looking Damian in the eye.  _ I'm fine _ , he wanted to say. Because he had to be fine. He always had to be fine. The others depended on him being fine, on being perfect and carefree and a good role model and a model citizen and he was  _ sick of it. _

He almost wished Bruce hadn't been there the night his parents died.

Then maybe none of this would have ever happened.

Dick watched Damian sigh before standing up and leaving, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

Dick fell back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan above him. He hated it, how everything could just go on when everything was coming crashing down around him.

_ It's not fair. _

He wanted to curl up under his blankets and never get back up. Nothing could hurt him if again if he just stayed where he was, safe and protected.

_ You know you can't do that. _

God, though, he wanted to.

He wanted to go to sleep and wake up and find out all of this had been some horrific nightmare.

But of course life was never going to be that easy for him. Life had thrown every shitty thing it could think of his way and laughed in his face while he struggled, miserable, and so bitterly, bitterly alone.

Because no one was going to be able to understand what had been taken from him. No one ever would. Bruce and Alfred would try, God they would try, but it wouldn’t be the same.

He wouldn’t have wished this on his worst enemy.

He felt something catch in his throat and tried to choke it down. He wasn’t going to cry. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He wasn’t a child who needed to run into his mother’s arms (no matter how much he wished he could run into his mother’s arms the past several weeks). He was a grown man. He was a renowned vigilante.

There was no crying in the vigilante life. There was no time for it.

But his body betrayed him just like it always seemed to and the tears fell and he hated himself all the more for it.

_ It’s not fair. _


End file.
